


Rescuing Peregrin Took

by Dorkangel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: "Merry!!", Also Awwh Poor Frodo!, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Dwarves, Fili has too many feels, Gen, Hobbit/Dwarf relationships, Hobbits, Hobbits Being Awesome, Kili's a kid, NO Pippin seriously needs a BIG hug, Pippin needs a hug, Slavery, preferably from Merry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an Alternative Universe where Erebor was retaken by a large dwarf army when Kili was just a little kid and Fili was a teenager or a really young adult, slavery is a big problem in Dale.<br/>Naturally, Thorin DOES NOT APPROVE in capitals, and when Prince Fili finds a terrified young Hobbit in the market, they have to do something.<br/>(Or, the author forgot to sleep for a couple of nights and wrote this instead. It is a combination of a twisted imagination and watching the Desolation of Smaug and the Two Towers on the same day.)</p><p>EDIT: 05.23.2016: This work has been abandoned. Sorry. If anyone is interesting in continuing it, please contact me: if not, it will eventually be deleted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> In order to get psyched up for this fic (I am such a horrible person why did I write this?), listen repeatedly to Pippin screaming "Merry!!" as the orcs drag them away. Heart sufficiently broken? Then I'll begin.

Fili Durin, crown prince of Erebor, strolled through the market place, eyeing the goods with the air of someone cooped up too long. How Thorin and Kili could bear to stay inside the lonely mountain he did not know, unable to run around openly and breathe the free air...  
But Thorin had been brought up among the rich halls of their kingdom, and Kili had been too young when Erebor was retaken to know any different. Fili himself had been barely an adult, but he had grown up in forests, OUTSIDE the mountains, not lurking within the depths.  
And though he was, of course, glad that they had retaken Erebor, that the gold and silver that had once been theirs was theirs once more, and wasn't mouldering away under a dragon, and that they didn't go hungry anymore, or have to labour in the villages of men, it was just that sometimes he needed to go outside and see the sky again. The city of Dale was all but rebuilt: it was good to see the markets, especially now, just as the sun was beginning to set.

Moving through the crowds, not dressed in robes or anything but a normal tunic and leather breeches (as most of them, even the King, usually wore), Fili paused. He was sure he had heard someone shouting; a short yelp as though from sharp pain.  
It was probably a mistake. Some careless Dwarrow or trader bashing his hip against the side of a stall by accident...  
No, there it was again. Louder this time, and ringing out for just a millisecond longer. A cry of pain or fear.  
Fili pushed through the other customers to get to the source of the noise. He was surprised no one else had heard, or if they had heard, been bothered by it.  
... but soon enough he did find the source of it, and felt a sickness settle in the pit of his stomach. A tiny boy had shrunk up against one of the tables, an arm desperately pressing his head against the side in an effort to shield himself, while a trader yelled at him, shaking a fist menacingly. Every time the man's voice rose in volume the boy flinched pitifully, and Fili had no doubts that it was him who had shouted out.  
The prince took a step forward, towards the (largely ignored or unnoticed) scene, but felt a heavy hand settle on his shoulder. Looking up, he met the familiar steely eyes of Dwalin Fundin, the commander of the guard and a personal friend of his Uncle's.  
"Prince Fili. It is detestable, I know-" and here Dwalin's voice was little more than a gruff growl. "But there's nothing you can do. Come along, Balin has called you to lessons."  
Fili's jaw set determinedly. Slavery was not illegal, but it was disgusting. Any slaves Thorin heard of in the mountain were usually instantaneously freed, but the men of Dale and Esgaroth kept slaves casually and - often enough - cruelly.  
"Firstly, Mr Dwalin, that boy is not human by any stretch of the imagination. Secondly, there must be SOMETHING I can do."  
Dwalin sighed thoughtfully, which was odd. Being thoughtful had never really been his thing: it was easier when someone else did the thinking and he was just pointed in the direction of whoever needed their head smashing in. "I hate to say it, Fili, but you could always buy him. We have funds enough." (By which he meant 'I'll pay and then your Uncle'll reimburse me.')  
"Mahal, Dwalin, I don't want to encourage them."  
"Kili has bought worse things in the market." Both of them paused, remembering the disastrous time that Kili had purchased a Warg puppy and tried to train it, but then a movement brought them sharply to reality as the trader grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders and threw him back into a cage. The poor lad whimpered and huddled as far as he could into the corner, and both of the watching dwarves felt their tempers flare up at such treatment. "Excuse me," said Fili in his most civil, I-would-like-to-murder-you, you-pathetic-excuse-for-a-person voice. "He's for sale, then?" He walked as casually as he could towards the trader.  
"Indeed, Master Dwarf." The man's voice was a simpering, slimy sneer. "The last of a bunch of his kind I took up from the south. Close to the sea."  
Fili bent down so he was squatting next to the cage, at roughly the boy's eye level. "Hello." he whispered. The only reaction he received was a slight widening of the boy's eyes in surprise and him shrinking back even further. "What's your name?"  
"P-Peregrin Took."  
The slaver kicked the cage roughly and the boy yelped. "Pip! Pip, sir."  
"How old are you?"  
"S-seventeen, sir."  
Fili's eyebrows shot up into his neatly braided hairline, and then plunged down again to meet sternly in the middle as he spun to fix a shocked glare on the trader. "He's a child." The words were hissed furiously from between gritted teeth and the trader shook his head smugly. "If he were a dwarf, he'd be a little baby, right? Heheheh. Not in hobbit years, he's not. Seventeen for him's coming close to forty for you. Nearly of age."  
The... hobbit? It was a strange word, and not one Fili had used before, though it seemed vaguely familiar - Balin had probably mentioned it - stared at him in horror as he realised what was going on. The trader was going to sell him to a DWARF.

Pippin had been captured maybe four months earlier. He and Frodo and Merry and his sister Pervinca, along with some others he couldn't quite remember, had gone fishing at the side of the Brandywine river (no one actually swimming; partially out of that traditional hobbit fear of water, partially out of respect for Frodo's drowned parents) when a group of surly, threatening men - apparently from Bree - had pulled up beside them on the road, under the pretext of stopping for their meal. Pervinca and some of the others had taken that as their cue to leave, sharpish, but Pippin and Merry and Frodo had stayed.  
He regretted that achingly now.  
The men had grabbed them, their feeble struggles and futile cries drowned out by the roaring of the river and the thickness of the woods. Gagged, bound and starving, they were taken first to Bree, then around the other towns of men up to Esgaroth, and now finally to Dale. Merry had been sold somewhere on the borders of Rohan; a country Pippin knew almost nothing about, apart from the fact that Gandalf had once visited and that they sold horses, mainly.  
They had both struggled as much as they could against the hands of their captors as Merry was dragged away, but they were small and starving and dehydrated and bruised, and so what could they do?  
The trader had beaten Pippin that night for fighting him, but beyond the pain in his heart that Merry had gone, Pippin felt nothing. It was as if a great big hole had been torn from his chest.  
Frodo had tried to comfort him, but then even Frodo had gone, sold to a man named Bard in Laketown. The man had seemed sympathetic, wincing at the youngest hobbit's cries for his cousin and friend, but he had taken Frodo away nonetheless, breaking Pippin's heart further.

And now he was HERE, and he was ALONE, and he had never so much as seen a single dwarf before, never mind in these numbers... never mind being sold to them, as a slave. The very idea hurt Pippin in a way he did not quite understand: he was a person, not an object to be prodded at and sold.  
The great big, terrifying, troll-like man had opened the cage for a moment and lifted Pippin out - forcefully, for the boy had no desire to be sold - to show off to a customer, who obviously hadn't bought him.  
Angry that the little hobbit refused to be sold, the man had hit him, backhanded, across the face, then begun to shout and curse as Pippin tried to cringe away, finding no shelter. When the boy did not respond to being the output for his frayed temper, the man had hit him again, harder, and Pippin had tried to huddle into a ball to protect himself... And then he was thrown back into the cage.  
He HATED it. Even before this, he had never liked to see animals kept in cages, especially small ones. "Don't they want to run free? To get away?" he remembered asking Merry once, and - just as clearly - he remembered the way Merry had winced a little. "I try not to think about it, Pip. I'm sure they don't like it, but they're only animals. It doesn't matter."  
Was that him now? An animal? Something that did not matter?  
And now he was going to be bought by a dwarf, for what purpose, he did not know.  
Speaking his full name had earned him a punishment, and he knew he'd have to take worse if the dwarf didn't buy him. Names like that, the slaver had explained, made him seem more of a person. He could be called 'Pip': it was a name for a dog or something.  
And as for being nearly forty... he didn't know what the trader meant by it, but he'd be twenty three in six years; and an adult by hobbit standards.  
If he lived that long.

"A hobbit?" asked Fili curiously, the word still unfamiliar in his mouth. "I've never seen a hobbit before."  
He wasn't quite sure who he was talking to. The trader and Dwalin were deep in negotiations of price, and they had not heard him. Knowing this, Pippin blinked apprehensively and whispered back: "I've never seen a dwarf before."  
Those six words, whispered fearfully through the bars of a cage, hurt something deep inside Fili. He was so far from home, so lost, so very alone...  
"Eighteen gold pieces."  
"Twenty."  
"Nineteen, and that's my last offer."  
"Deal." The money was handed over and the slaver grinned in what was honestly more of a leer, now that the boy was no longer his responsibility. "Been trying to get rid of him."  
Fili ignored his words, quickly taking the key to the cage and unlocking it. For a moment Pippin hesitated, absolutely terrified at the thought of belonging to someone, petrified beyond belief at the thought of what this dwarf might make him do, and shattered into a million pieces at being so far from Merry.  
He had no chance to get back to his cousin now.  
"Hey," said Fili softly, his voice gentle as he recognised the fear in Pippin's eyes. "Come on. I'm not going to hurt you." The lad swallowed nervously at Fili's attempted reassurances, but then clambered out. Putting a hand on his shoulder protectively - though to Pippin it felt possessive - Fili turned away to walk towards Dwalin... and heard a short gasp of breath as the hobbit's gaze alighted on the enormous Dwarven warrior, covered in tattoos and piercings and scars, with fearsome brows and dark eyes, and bulging, corded muscles all over.  
Actually, the hobbit was nearly as tall as Fili himself, he was just very, very slight and almost delicate looking, apart from his feet.  
Fili was sturdy and confident, smallish for a dwarf, with quite a lot of skill with a sword, though of course that was not easily visible from the outside. In his early youth he had done quite a lot of work in the forge, and continued to do so. He was wiry and strong, but also generally regarded to be good-looking, with lustrous golden hair, a decent beard and shining blue eyes.  
The slave, Pip, was not actually that small in comparison, he just seemed to carry an air of smallness. His shoulders were hunched up and his head bowed, although his eyes scanned across everything they could as quickly as possible. He looked unbelievably scared.  
His hair was a lovely dark auburn, and extremely curly, but it was smeared with dirt and dust. His eyes were a clear, dancing, green, but they were filled with sadness and fear.  
His clothes, suspected Fili, had never been particularly fine, but by now they were practically ragged.  
Noticing Pippin staring at him, Dwalin unfolded his arms uncomfortably, glaring fondly at Fili. "Ready?"  
"Yeah. Come on then," The boy stumbled forward a little, unaware of Fili's concerned face next to him. "Back to the palace, your highness." he joked, his voice raised a tiny bit from the usual base growl.  
"Shut up."  
"Thorin's not going to be happy."  
"Thorin's never happy."  
"He's going to have to pay for that."  
Fili sighed. "Ah well..."  
"And I've never met a dwarf who enjoyed parting with his money." He paused and frowned for a moment. "Apart from your brother." The blonde snorted- ever so graciously. "It's never HIS money."

Peregrin - no, Pip. He had to remember to call himself that now - had frozen at the sight of the huge dwarf. He'd always thought Sam was strong, with his firm little biceps and perpetually determined stance. You always had a feeling that Sam would fight off a pack of Wargs with his bare teeth if they even looked twice at Mr Frodo.  
But this Dwarf... he finally understood why they were supposed to be moulded from stone; he had never seen such a rock-like person before in his life.  
He shifted impatiently and Pippin startled and moved forwards, a bit too quickly, apparently, in his fatigued state, because he nearly fell, just managing to catch himself.  
If he fell, this young Dwarf might sell him back to the trader, and he didn't want to be on the wrong end of that man's wrath again.  
Ignoring him (he meant so little now), the Dwarves began a conversation of their own.  
About how much of a bother he was going to be, apparently. 'Your Highness'... was he missing something here? He knew pretty much nothing of the Lonely Mountain, but he knew at least that there was a king. More than likely this other dwarf was joking, but what if this was a prince? What if the huge, stony one was a bodyguard?- it made sense.  
And 'Thorin'... that was DEFINITELY the name of the King Under the Mountain. He had heard the traders talking, they had said: "You can't take slaves into Erebor. King Thorin won't allow it. Had a bad experience with slavers when the Dwarve of Erebor were all homeless, like."  
"You sure?"  
"Slaves end up in there, sure, but taking them into the markets is a BAD idea. Been known to execute people, Thorin. Bit of a temper on him."  
This could be the prince then, easily. Strange, to think that a minute ago he couldn't be any more scared.

Dwalin led Fili and Fili led Pippin into the cavernous halls of Erebor. "I will tell Balin that you are otherwise occupied." conceded the older Dwarf reluctantly. "And if I were you, I'd avoid your Uncle as long as possible."  
"Right. Thank you, Dwalin."  
He made a vaguely affirmative grunt before striding away into what seemed to the hobbit like an eternity of towering darkness.  
"Pip, isn't it?" asked the young prince, turning to face the boy. "Yes, sir." The words were whispered, hoarse. Fili hesitated, wondering if this was going too far, then looked him in the face and said: "Are you sure? I heard another name, before he kicked you."  
Pippin's face somehow became even more drawn, even paler, and he quickly looked down and shook his head before adding: "P-Pippin?"  
"No, that wasn't it." Exhaling thoughtfully, Fili turned towards his quarters and gestured for Pippin to follow him. "Never mind."  
They walked for about a minute, Fili's hand still lying on Pippin's shoulder as he tried not to fall, the smooth, green marble beneath his feet seeming full of lumps and pitfalls to his tired mind, and then a taller, darker young dwarf appeared behind them, grinning, and smacked both his hands around Fili's ears. Pippin flinched away at the sudden movement and sound, and the newcomer noticed him quite suddenly and frowned.  
"Fee, brother. What are you doing?"  
"Arrgh, Kili! Don't do that, by Durin's nose."  
Kili tapped his brother lightly, and raised a pointed eyebrow at the ragged Hobbit. Fili sighed. "It's complicated."  
"And I am not to tell Thorin?"  
"I will try and explain to him. Over dinner." The two Dwarves nodded in understanding. Thorin was happier when he had food.  
Or just something to stab.

Noticing the gathering darkness (from the windows in this part of the halls, where they were nearly outside of their mountain), Fili led Pip as quickly as he could up to his rooms. They were not hideously decadent, not as pointedly simple as his homes before they had retaken Erebor had been, but they were nice rooms, filled with comforts and- well, not luxuries, but maybe more expensive things, as well as well-made swords and armour. "Right," said Fili awkwardly, thinking things over as thoroughly as he could in the approximate ten seconds before Thorin (or a servant) yelled down the hall for him. "You stay here and go to sleep, you need it. I have to go to a dinner... I'll bring you back some food and sort out the rest in the morning, ok?"  
Pip nodded hesitantly, taking in his surroundings quickly with his clever eyes. Nodding, Fili made to leave and heard a small cough or something behind him as the Hobbit moved moved anxiously, trying to subtly get his master's attention. "Sir, where should I sleep?" Once again, the voice was muted, whispered. Fili was sure that he could make out an accent somewhere in it, but the poor boy kept his voice so low that it was hard to tell.  
Actually, it was a good question. Where would he sleep? The young Durin's eyes caught on pile of handmade rugs from the Iron Hills, woven for warmth and comfort by Dain's people. Fili had never touched them yet, they could happily go to Pip. He gestured to them with a muttered 'there, if you don't mind', and opened the door of the rooms, hearing the ever-encouraging sound of Bombur shouting.  
"Fili Durin! Get your royal arse down to the kitchens right now!" In the back of his vision, Fili saw Pip jump sharply at the sound of the booming voice, and cursed himself softly under his breath for being late. There would be no way to breach this subject gently now, or at all carefully, since Thorin would doubtless demand an instantaneous explanation for his tardiness.

Left alone in the large chamber, the doors slamming accidentally behind Fili (they were wood and brass and probably twice Pippin's height), Pippin collapsed onto the floor, not even bothering to sit on the rugs, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his head between his knees. He took a series of long, shaky breaths, each of them threatening to catch in his throat. He didn't know what they were catching on, but he did know that wherever he was, he had never felt so trapped in his life. The walls around him were solid stone, there were no windows (in that particular room) and even the designs on the furniture were foreign, pressing in on him, driving home the knowledge that he was no longer in the Shire, that the chances of him ever getting back to the Shire were so minimal that they didn't even bear thinking about, but most of all, that he was little more than a prisoner here, or an animal, who meant very little as long as he was still able to work.  
It was lucky that he was too tired to form any more coherent thoughts, because then he might have started worrying about why Prince Fili had bought him, and that just opened up a whole other can of worms.  
Instead he crawled to his feet and took a few steps over to the rugs before dutifully collapsing on top of them and sighing sadly, sinking into oblivion.

"You did WHAT?!"  
Thorin's voice thundered across the table, breaking the momentary silence they had had as Fili explained his actions. It had previously only been interrupted by the soft, metaphorical thump of Kili's jaw hitting the ground.  
"I-"  
"Fili, I will not accept this. I will not allow my people to-"  
"Uncle, what else was I supposed to do?! Leave him there to the tender mercies of that trader, or whoever else wished to buy him? I could hardly find another way to intervene, seeing as our laws don't stretch out to Dale."  
Thorin sighed. His nephew had a point, and if he heard right, it had been Dwalin's idea. "You could have just freed him immediately."  
"He'd never seen a dwarf before, Uncle, and the trader said he came down from the south, close to the sea. He would have been completely lost in Dale or Erebor."  
Thorin growled fondly, trying to glare at his nephews, while in fact struggling not to smile. "I swear, I am going to ban the both of you from the market."  
Fili grinned in return, but Kili mistook it for actual anger. Kili, thought Thorin, rolling his eyes, did not quite have his head screwed on the right way.  
"What?! What have I done?"  
"Warg, Kili. WARG."  
"Oh." Their Uncle smiled reluctantly at them, and Kili realised he was joking and finally grinned back.  
"Though in fairness, you both meant well. I don't have to worry about disobedient princes, just stupid ones."  
They ducked their heads, but continued to laugh as the King's gaze bored into the back of their heads and their necks. "And don't think I've forgotten that you've missed your lesson with Balin, Fili."  
"No, sir."  
"And that you were hanging around in Dale."  
"No, sir."  
"And spending my money."  
"Ah-" Fili gulped. "Sorry sir."

Thorin insisted on following Fili to his nephew's rooms, and Kili would not be left behind, so he came too, bouncing behind his more serious Uncle and brother.  
However, once they reached the chambers, Thorin turned to Kili and fixed him with a impassive and stern glare. "This is none of your business. And more over, it is a sensitive and serious business that requires subtly."  
"Then why are you helping?"  
Thorin thumped his younger nephew on the shoulder and he yelped. "Ow! Sorry. Alright, I'll go."  
He spun on his heel and turned to go, biting his lip against the cheeky retort which threatened to escape.  
Nope, it got out. "But Fili's gonna tell me EVERYTHING later!"

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, Lord of all the seven Dwarven kingdoms and heir of Durin, hesitated outside the door.  
Trust his nephews to make him nervous about doing something.  
"Sorry." added Fili nervously, wondering why his Uncle would pause like that. "It was the only thing I could think of to do."  
Thorin grunted, motivated, and opened the door with quite a loud crash, making Fili inwardly slap his forehead.  
Luckily, Pip was so deeply exhausted that even the sound of the enormous door slamming into the stone walls did not disturb him.  
Thorin's piercing gaze quickly found him, lying like a dirty smudge on the colourful rugs. "Valar, Fili. You didn't exaggerate."  
The young prince shook his head as Thorin moved forward, but then called out. "Uncle,"  
"What is it, boy?"  
Fili smiled a little at Thorin's exasperated tone (which was usually reserved for Kili). "His name is Pip."

Pippin woke to a strange face above his, and involuntary squeaked and tried to move away, whimpering 'Merry!'. By Yavanna, he didn't feel any more awake than a minute ago.  
As he shuffled frantically away, Pippin's far too big by now shirt rode up a little, to show a series of scars criss-crossing his back, testament to someone beating him; more than once and with little regard to his health. Without thinking, Thorin dropped instinctively to his knees and put a hand comfortingly on the boy's shoulder. "You're alright. It's ok."  
For a few shuddering breaths, the little Hobbit was comforted. And then he remembered where he was, and sat bolt upright, staring, panicked, at Fili. "S-sorry, I didn't mean-"  
"It's ok, lad, he told you to get some rest, right? It's 'Pip', isn't it?"  
'Pip' looked like he didn't know which direction to run in. It was going to split him into little pieces. Thorin shot Fili an accusing glance, as if it was somehow his fault.  
"It's alright," soothed the king again. "You're not in trouble. I don't approve of slavery, and neither does Fili. His buying you was more of a confused rescue attempt."  
"I... I heard you shouting." Fili's addition to the conversation was pretty much useless, and he inwardly smashed his head against a metaphorical wall, but it was actually his apologetic, guilty and flustered expression that actually managed to reassure Pippin that they were serious.  
"Who are you?" Pip was no longer stammering, barely able to talk, but he was still frightened.  
"My name is Thorin Oakenshield. This is my nephew, Fili Durin."  
"My name is... Pip, sir. Are you the king?"  
Thorin chuckled. "Yes. I am the king."  
Pippin swallowed. "R-right."  
"Where is your home?"  
"From here?" Pippin's eyes went wide as he tried to think about. It was a strange sensation, since he and all the others had spent many hours on the journey trying as hard as they could not to think about how far they were from home. "I don't know."  
Thorin nodded slowly. "In the morning we can ask the scholars. For now, I think it is best that you both sleep."  
Pippin nodded quickly, and as Thorin made to leave, Fili tapped him on the shoulder and spoke in Khuzdul. "He's more nervous around me than you, Uncle. Has that ever happened before?"  
Throin 'humph'ed sharply through his nose and took a long step out of the door... only to collide with the youngest Durin. "Oof! Kili!"  
"Ah! Sorry, Uncle, I-"  
"Come with me. At once!"  
"Where are you-"  
"To see Dis."  
"No! Argh! Fili, help!"  
Laughing softly at the idea that his family was meant to be royalty, Fili smiled carefully at Pippin. "He's taking him to our mother," he explained. "Who is well reputed to be able to wrestle a bear."  
"Who?"  
"Our moth- oh. That's my brother, Kili. He's quite a bit younger; can't keep himself out of trouble."  
Pippin nodded slowly. "I really am sorry," added the Prince, biting his lip guiltily. "I didn't mean to scare you."  
Pippin nodded again. "You know, it's rare enough that Thorin acts so friendly. He once stared down the elves."  
And at that, that tiny piece of meaningless babble, the hobbit's head snapped up. "Elves?" The thin voice was filled with incredulity and wonder. "Me and..." No. The thought of Merry was too painful. "Me and my friends always wanted to visit the elves."  
Fili didn't say anything, but his eyes lit in interest and he sat down. "My cousin's Uncle Bilbo - Mad Baggins, they call him - went off adventuring once and met them. He's always telling us about beyond the shire." Pippin's voice was a whisper again, that same honest, trance-like, almsot expressionless drone.  
"It's not like what he told us, much."  
"There ARE wonderful things, if you find them."  
Pippin's eyes on his face were almost pleading, waiting for a story. "Thorin doesn't like elves. They abandoned us when we most needed them: just after the fall of Erebor."  
"It fell?"  
Fili smiled. "It's a long story."  
"I don't mind."  
"Erebor was one of the greatest kingdoms in Middle Earth, prosperous and happy. But... The King Under the Mountain, Thror, Thorin's grandfather, dug too greedily. Too deep. His love for gold attracted a dragon..."

Fili did not tell the story the way that Thorin would have- filled with their foul fortune and containing an only slightly justified rant against Thranduil. He did not dress it up in ribbons as Bilbo would have done, but nor did he add all the facts and figures like Ori.  
Fili told Pippin about the times he had had with his brother, about working in the forges, about Nori's getting in trouble for stealing, about Oin healing them all through a sickness with all the bedside manner of a wild boar, about Bofur making little Kili a clockwork lion when Vili died at Azanulbizar.  
The Mountain was retaken when Fili was thirty eight and Kili was only eight. Thirty years seems, perhaps, like a long time between the brothers, but for Dwarves it was not at all substantial. Besides, they had always been incredibly close, Fili old enough to look after his brother when Vili and Thorin and the others were busy at the forge, and Dis was doing whatever job she could get.  
Once they had their kingdom back, Filihad experienced something of a culture shock, as he now explained. For little fetus-Kili it had been a fantastic adventure, and a whole new landscape to explore, and not going hungry anymore. It had simply made Fili realise how much they had lived without, and although it was wonderful to live without the fear of death one way or another like an ominous cloud over them, there was no sunlight. The air was old and heavy.

The Hobbit had stayed awake all through his story, watching and listening, enraptured. When it had ended and Fili stopped talking, he paused for just a moment, and then talked himself. "The Shire (my home) is pretty and safe. We have never had to fight to save it, or win it back, but most hobbits cling to it and never leave. They don't talk to men, or elves for that matter, and certainly not dwarves. And no one ever has adventures.  
"Except, Tooks sometimes do. People say my family's a little odd, and I guess we are, and more than once I've been accused of misleading my Merry. Into trouble."  
"Merry?"  
"My cousin. I have a bit of a surplus of sisters, if you know what I mean, so me and Merry played together. He's five years older than me, which is quite a fair bit, but..."  
And Pippin told his story in return, right up to when the traders came down to the river, in over exaggerated detail and making little sense.  
When he got to the slavers, he shut down.  
"And then they grabbed us and took us to Bree and then through the towns of men to Rohan and then to here to Dale."  
Fili looked at Pippin's brutalised back. "Did they do that to you?" He rubbed his curly hair and looked away. "Me and Merry tried to run. And then... And then someone bought Merry and I fought."  
"You are very brave."  
"No, I'm not." His voice left no room for argument.  
Fili shrugged and turned to climb into bed. Pippin curled up under the rugs, but the last thing he heard before sleep took him was Fili's whispered words. "If you're not scared then it's not being brave."


	2. Of Other Hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Merry and Frodo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Pippin is acting like a really little kid in this, and there's a reason for that. I mean, it's deliberate, because I don't really know, but I reckon seventeen is quite young for hobbits.

Merry had tried so hard to stay brave for his little Pip. Seventeen or not, Pippin was just a little kid, and he needed someone to look after him. To hold his hand. To get into trouble with him.  
"Merry," Pippin's high, clear voice cut through the darkness, though he was speaking quite quietly for fear of waking the traders.  
Honestly, for Peregrin Took it seemed as if 'Merry' was an all purpose question starter. 'Merry, why is the sky blue?'. 'Merry, how far behind us is Farmer Maggot?'. 'Merry, where's Frodo?'. 'Merry, when's dinner ready?'. 'Merry, what's happening?'.  
"Yes, Pip?"  
"Where are we?"  
"I'm not really sure." The borders of a wild country, it seemed, for they had seen no men (or elves or dwarves or hobbits) anywhere for days. "Near Rohan, I should think."  
"What's that?"  
"Rohan. The land of the Rohirram: horse breeders."  
Pippin gulped. "Full size horses?"  
"Yeah. Like Gandalf's, only... You know."  
"Useful."  
"Right. Big ones, these. Even your old grandad would've had trouble with horses the like of these."  
Pippin snuggled closer to his cousin, warm against the chilling night air. "And how big was the Old Took, Merry?"  
"He was so big that he could ride a real pony. Nearly five foot." continued the older seamlessly, obliging. "He wasn't only big though, Pip, he was brave. In the battle of Green Fields he charged the Goblin ranks, and with one swing of his staff, knocked the Goblin King's head clean off, and it sailed one hundred feet through the air and-"  
"-went down a rabbit hole."  
Merry grinned. "And thus, the battle was won..."  
"...and the game of golf invented at the same time."  
For a moment they both laughed, but them Merry felt they younger lad go stiff against his side. "Merry... There aren't any goblins in Rohan, are there?"  
"Nah, Pip. They live in the mountains."  
Pippin nodded into Merry's ribs and quietly went to sleep, while an unfortunate and disturbing thought crossed Merry's mind.  
There wouldn't be goblins, but there might well be orcs.  
To distract himself from the terrible images of Pippin - or Frodo - in the hands of orcs, which even a Hobbit from the Shire knew to be worse than slave traders, he risked a glance towards their captors.  
The men were tall (or at least, he thought so, compared to a hobbit) and had particularly ugly, squinted faces. Pippin had called them trolls under his breath more than once, and it was a perfect description: enormous, hideous beings with little regard to the lives of others.  
Merry was beginning to wonder if the men were part Orc. Which, if you've ever met an Orc, you will know is not a compliment.  
Maybe, thought the lost hobbit with a last strain of wit as he succumbed to sleep; since orcs patrolled these lands, maybe the men were up here visiting their kin.

When he woke up, he was back in the cage. Frodo gave sent a feeble attempt at a comforting smile from the next one, humming softly between gritted teeth. Merry recognised the tune - it was one of Bilbo's songs - as 'The Road Goes Ever On and On'.  
"This road has gone on too far, Frodo."  
"You forget the last verse. 'Yet feet that wandering have gone/turn at last to home afar.'"  
Merry nodded, and next to him Pippin woke up, clinging to his arm like a baby monkey. "Merry," came his little voice, half choking on it. "We're still...?"  
"We're in the cages, Pip." He felt the younger hobbit, still grabbing onto his arm, shift closer. "It's ok, Pip. I'm still here, right?"  
"Right, Merry."  
The younger hobbit hated the cages beyond all belief, that much at least Merry knew of what happened inside Pippin's head. The rest was a total mystery, apart from the one obvious thing of, when in any kind of trouble, however vague, call for Meriadoc Brandybuck. "We closer to Rohan now, Merry?"  
"We're in Rohan, I think."  
Frodo nodded and paused in his humming for a moment. "We're going to Edoras."  
"What?"  
"The capital."  
"Frodo Baggins, how would in Middle Earth could you know that?"  
"Bilbo and his maps are good for something, apparently."  
"Quiet, the lot of you!" snarled one of traders and the hobbits all fell silent fearfully, Pippin burying his face in Merry's chest again. "We're getting close to the city, then?"  
"Not sure you can call it a city."  
"I said QUIET!"  
They were quiet.

Éomer scowled at the approaching wagons from his position outside the King's hall. The people here weren't looking to buy slaves, and they didn't usually have money.  
They had horses. Many, many horses.  
"More useless wares, then, cousin?" laughed a voice from behind him, and he shot only a quick glance towards the king's son as he approached. "Yes, Théodred. Completely useless. They remind me of this prince I know: maybe you've met him. Shortish build, light brown hair...?"  
"Alright, shut up. Éowyn is searching for you, she says it is something about your sword. She will not tell me."  
Eömer smiled. 'About his sword' was their code for 'about Théodred's birthday'. It would be a night to remember, by all accounts, with enormous amounts of alcohol being brought in from everywhere, even as far afield as Gondor.  
"In that case then, I'll have to find her. My sword is important to me."  
"Looks alright from here."  
"So it does." Eömer broke into another huge grin and the young prince glared at him. "Don't think I don't know that you're up to something!" Still smiling, the huge older man turned to walk away. "No one can have their sword repaired that many times in a week."  
If Éomer hadn't walked away, I have a feeling that perhaps the Valar would have been kinder to Merry. Perhaps Éowyn would have seen and rushed to his aid, and he and Pippin and Frodo and the others would be free and safe.  
He walked away.

The Rohirram had come forward to look at the hobbits, hardened gazes sweeping suspiciously at the traders and over the wares. Pippin hid behind Merry, and Merry tried to cover him. Honestly, it wasn't even like HIM to act this childish. It was probably a combination of fatigue, starvation and shock. Too many NEW THINGS, to any hobbit, even a Took, are bad.  
"I need a stable hand." came a gruff voice through the chatter. "Strong enough, and I don't mind how small he is. All the boys round here keep riding off to war or on patrol."  
Merry felt his blood run cold as the slaver looked right at him, eyes shining with greed and a false smile plastered across his greasy face. "You there, lad. Move forward so the gentleman can see you." Merry didn't move. "Come now, Halfling." he added in more of a growl. "You wouldn't want any trouble, and I've promised this gentleman you're well behaved.  
With what he tried to make a comforting glance at his little cousin, Merry shuffled forward a bit. "Merry's his name, Mr...?"  
"Éothain. Master of King Théoden's stables."  
"Merry, then, Mr Éothain. He's twenty four, getting towards maturity for a hobbit, very strong."  
Éothain surveyed the hobbit dubiously. He was VERY little, despite what he had said about size being no object, and skinny at that. The fault of the slavers, no doubt, and he couldn't be that strong, being so slight, but hobbits (he had been told) were a very sturdy folk. Stronger than you'd think.  
Now, Éothain was a man of very few words. Ever. Hearing him speak to anyone other than his horses was a rare occasion for the stable boys, except for the obvious 'Rein him in there, Eorlings' and 'Not like that, do his girth like this'.  
So mentioning the slave's condition to the trader was unnecessary. Whatever the boy's name, he thought, the poor lad certainly did not seem merry.  
No matter. Éothain was not a particularly cruel man, just a little on the emotionally-stunted side. "I'll take him then. Give you a horse for him?"  
"Gold, Mr Éothain. I've visited Rohan before." Ah well. Worth a try.  
Pippin clambered forward as they discussed price, and attached one of his slim hands to Merry's arm, long fingers curling desperately around the limb. "No..." The word was heavy; it dropped like a stone through the still, warm air.  
The man came closer and both of the hobbits scooted back. This was not allowed. It wasn't right. They couldn't think of taking Merry- they simply COULDN'T.  
"Please don't." Still Pippin's voice. Still quiet. The trader reached to grab Merry's collar and the boy cried out and both of them hit simultaneously in the slaver's direction, breaking his nose by pure dumb luck.  
The man howled, then bit down hard to cover it up and dragged Merry away, accidentally pulling Pippin too as he was still holding onto his cousin. Merry kicked out with his big feet, catching the man in the leg, and Pippin tried to pull back (though where could they go? Back into the cage?) but, strong as a determined hobbit may be, straight out fighting a tall, heavily-built man can never really be a feasible option for them. "Let go of me!" But then the trader hit Merry with blinding force around the back of the head, making white dots swim before his eyes, and he found himself unable to struggle for the moment, and Pippin was elbowed in the stomach. Merry heard his gasp and felt the fingers on his arm release him very suddenly as the younger hobbit moved instinctively to wrap his arms around his belly.  
"Brave little things," came the trader's voice from somewhere around the left, and he was dragged to his feet and towards the man who had bought him. "But small, and that's the point of it. Can't really do much."  
The man - his owner - grunted. Emotionally stunted as he was, the little thing was indeed very small, and young by the look of it, and clinging like hell to the other one. "Give him here then."  
And then Merry was handed over and pulled away, only given one last glance back as his sight cleared. Pippin, eyes desperately wide, still partially surrounded by Rohirram, was kneeling against the bars, arms wrapped around his stomach, calling Merry's name.

"Merry!"  
"Pippin-"  
"Merry!"  
"Pippin, calm down!"  
"Mer..." His cried descended into sobbing. "Pippin..." Frodo had reached through the bars and was rubbing circles into his back. "It's ok." It wasn't ok. Of course it wasn't, but it was the only thing that Frodo could think of to say. "You're ok."  
Pippin shook his head, tears gathering. "I know, I know."  
"He's gone..."  
"You're alright, Pippin."  
Basically, he wasn't.

Frodo had kept an arm around Pippin's shoulders for a long time, waiting for him to calm down. He didn't necessarily expect Pippin to be able to accept Merry being gone, or to not be blindingly, crushingly miserable. He was just waiting for him to go into shock, and soon enough the little hobbit went almost silent and did not move. Seeing it for what it was, and recognising it from what had happened to himself over the death of his parents, Frodo had reached out and taken Pippin's hand, and until they got to Laketown three or four days later, pretty much refused to let go.

Exhausted and soggy from the journey across the Lake to Esgaroth, the slaves were in very little position to fight back by the time the cages were moved into the market and the hobbits were out and up for sale.  
Pippin had actually managed to fall asleep, still holding Frodo's hand, when the tall, dark-haired lord had arrived at the market, a tiny little girl pulling him along beside her. She chattered merrily as she did - Frodo winced inwardly as the thought went through his head, encompassing as it did the word 'merry' - but then she stopped short at the sight of the slavers. That was one human at least who was bothered by the trade.  
"Da, they're right outside our house!" she squeaked, absolutely horrified.  
His face became closed and grim as he heard his daughter's panicked voice and he studied the wagons. "I know. We can't really go around it, though, can we?" As per usual for Bard, although those who knew him knew him to be a good man and a good friend, his voice was stony and solemn and kind of frustrated. He was staring past the market, to his comfortable hall, where his two other children waited, when his youngest daughter's voice interrupted him again.  
"What are they, Da?"  
"Hmm?"  
"The little people."  
"Hobbits, Tilda."  
"Rabbits?"  
"No, Hobbits." He rolled his eyes fondly, though a great portion of his mind still lingered on the fact that they would have to walk through a slave market to get home.  
"They're a small folk who live underground and have big feet."  
"Just like rabbits, then." Happy with her simple, childish logic, the little girl moved forward, but then frowned again. "Can you not help them, Da?"  
"No, Tilda. Come along, your sis-"  
"But you keep saying we need a housekeeper." The shrewdness of the very young had never ceased to amaze Bard and he stared at his little daughter, eyes widening at the thought that she would possibly even suggest buying a slave. "Please, Da! I heard the Master's servants say that if they were not sold here or Dale then the slaves were thrown in the lake and left to drown!"  
"You should not hear of such things, little one."  
"Help them then." she finished simply, her voice high and obvious. Bard sighed. "I can help one of them. Not all. Turning down command of Dale has kept us our home, little one, but it hasn't helped our funds."  
"Uh huh. Yes, Da." She was staring avidly across the cages, not really paying much attention to her father now that she was getting what she wanted. He, on the other hand, tried not to look at the few remaining, cowering hobbits, turning to the trader instead. "How much for one of them?"  
"Twenty two gold coins. Depends on which one though, see some of 'em can-"  
"I really don't care." snapped Bard, his lilting accent showing through, lending surprising anger to his voice. "I'll give you twenty two gold coins for one ...eh, that one." He had waved a general arm in the direction of Frodo's cage, obviously not aiming for anyone in particular, but...  
When he saw the man gesture to him, even as the blood drained from his face and left him whiter than Bilbo's prized starched sheets, Frodo let go sharply of Pippin's hand. "Merry..." came the boy's voice as he woke up, hand feeling suddenly cold and empty, and then as he glanced around him, wide awake far more quickly than anyone of his age should be able to do, his face filled with pain. "No, no, not you too. Frodo, please."  
"Pippin, keep quiet, ok? Keep yourself out of trouble, and before you know it, me and Merry'll be there, looking for you, looking after you and you can go home and-" The young Baggins's voice had gathered pace and volume slightly as Bard drew nearer, not that he was speaking slowly in the first place. "You're going to be strong, alright Pip?"  
"No." the younger boy whispered.  
Bard reached through the now opened door of the cage and pulled Frodo quickly but firmly away. "No, Frodo, please! Please don't, Mister, don't!" Bard's face grew both softer and more grim at Pippin's words. He wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do. "Say your goodbyes quickly, little hobbit." he murmured softly, stepping back for a second to give Frodo and Pippin some semblance of privacy.  
"Pip, you're going to be alright. Don't let that troll of a man hurt you. You're a Took, Pip, you're better than him, ok?"  
"Please don't leave me alone, Frodo. Please."  
The darker hobbit felt his eyes fill with tears, but let the great, tall man lead him away, and Pippin noticed how Frodo squared his shoulders (terrified nonetheless) and marched, eyes staring holes into the path, but both the man and the little girl glanced back, wearing twin expressions of guilt and pity and fear.

Nearly all the hobbits were sold that day, and the few remaining were taken up to Dale (Fili found Pippin on their second day there).

Frodo Baggins on the other hand, was shown into Bard's hall by a very excitable nine year old. "My name is Tilda." she announced, smiling at him. Frodo lifted his eyes for just a moment, and then nodded once, slowly. "Aren't you going to say your name?" asked Tilda, looking surprised that he didn't immediately. "Frodo." he replied quietly, his mouth dry. "Can I ask you a question?" she continued, playing with the hem of her skirt while Bard hung up their coats. Technically for those who owned slaves it was a slave's job, but Bard very much doubted that Frodo would be able to reach the pegs. He was smaller than Tilda even, and she had to climb a stepladder to get to them.  
You can do whatever you want! Frodo screamed silently. I'm a slave. You bought me! He said none of this, nodding once again instead. "How come you don't have big ears?"  
Frodo head snapped up, wearing a slightly incredulous frown at the odd question. His ears were pointed, different from those of men, but why on Middle Earth should they be big? Trying desperately to think of an an acceptable answer, he opened his mouth and took a deep, thoughtful breath...  
And was interrupted by Bard walking in and ruffling his daughter's hair. "Hobbit, Tilda. He's a Hobbit, not a rabbit."  
"Oh." She sounded so surprised that Frodo had to bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Bard strode steadily towards him on his great long legs, bending down to his level. "My name is Bard. Did I hear right that your name is Frodo?"  
Not sure whether to speak or not, Frodo nodded. "Can you not talk, little hobbit?" asked Bard with his rarely seen kind smile, half joking, if only to gauge the mood of the hobbit, but Frodo felt a flood of terror rising up from somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and looked his master nervously in the eye. "Yes, sir. Sorry sir."  
"There's no need to be sorry." He looked, concerned, at Frodo, gently sweeping a dark curl out of his face, much as he would do for his own children, or Frodo's uncle would do for him. "Valar, did they drag you literally through the lake?" Frodo looked at him blankly, not understanding. Bard, did in fact, mean that the unfortunate hobbit was almost totally soaked. In reality, their boat had simply been full of holes and had been driven particularly badly, into the sides of rocks and ruins and against waves which crashed onto the decks and covered everyone in another wet, cold, imaginary blanket. "Come with me." finished Bard, standing up again and walking steadily towards the bathroom, hoping the hobbit would follow him. He had deliberately left the door ajar incase it was all too much for the little one and he decided to run, but honestly hoped he would not. There were no hobbits in this part of the world, not natively anyway, and him running through the streets would very smartly result in him back in a cage in the slave market.  
Frodo did, of course, follow him; having been too distracted by Tilda comparing him to a rabbit to notice the partially open door. The Lakeman (we cannot call him a Bargeman since he didn't run the barge anymore) led Frodo into the bathroom, handing him a towel. "Just before you get the wrong idea of me and my family," he added awkwardly. "We have never kept a slave before. Nor did I ever intend to. My daughter saw you and... the others... and wanted to help. She can be very compassionate about RABBITS." he finished, the corner of his lip tugging up even as he rolled his eyes again. Frodo hesitated, and then nervously returned his smile, shyly rubbing his hair with the towel. "We are not rich, master hobbit, so we will need your help, but we will not force you to do anything or hold you prisoner."  
Frodo gave Bard a look of intense relief and gratitude. "Thank you, sir!"  
"My name is Bard. Bard the Bowman."  
"Thank you, Bard." The Bowman nodded and turned to go, leaving Frodo wondering why they called him 'the Bowman'. Presumably he was an archer, though by the look of his home Frodo would have put him down as quite rich. Shaking his head (he was lucky, he told himself, very lucky) Frodo snapped into action, drying his head and arms as quickly as he could. It wouldn't do to disappoint whoever had bought him right now, however nice they might have seemed so far.

"Bain," said Bard sharply, catching his son as he passed him on the stairs. "Has Tilda explained the... situation?"  
"Not really, Da. She said that you bought a rabbit at the market to help us out, though why we'd want a rabbit is-"  
"Oh for hell's sake. Listen, I bought a hobbit..."


	3. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves and Pip. Or Pippin. Or Peregrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit short, but I know how frustrating waiting for chapters is, and I wanted to write about Dis. She's AWESOME! (I think she's more like Kili than anything)  
> ...this is being paused while I write some other stuff I thought of...

*Present Day*

Pippin had woken with a gasp to the sound of an argument. At the raised voices he sat tense and upright very quickly, nervous at what could happen if he had upset the dwarves... they weren't as big as men, or as pompous as elves, or as brutal as orcs, but they were still taller than him, and loftier than him and stronger than him.  
But they weren't shouting at him. At each other, it seemed, with one voice much more prominent and loud and often accompanied with slaps and small 'oof's from the others.  
Moving a little closer to the door, he could make out the conversation.  
"Listen, Ma, Kili's just a kid. I understand-"  
"For the millionth time, I am not just a kid!"  
"Shut up, Kili."  
"Thanks, Thorin. Kili's just a kid, but I'm old enough to make these decisions-"  
"Fili Durin, I do not care if you are three hundred and eighty seven, there is no way that you are engaging in some foolish adventure that'll get you killed or-"  
"But, Ma!"  
"No 'but's!"  
"Ow!"  
"Dis, you are being more than a little unreasonable..."  
"Thorin Oakenshield, don't you point your big nose into this. The whole incident with the dragon-"  
"The ridiculously important quest to slay Smaug and recover our homeland so that we did not wander, starving."  
"The INCIDENT with the DRAGON was proof enough that these kind of adventures are dangerous."  
"Can I just say-"  
"Shut up, Kili!"  
"Yes, Ma."  
Pippin took another small, nervous step towards the door - he could have reached out easily and touched it- but it opened suddenly and he was thrown onto the floor by a combination of the sheer force of it and the shock of a door flying right into his face. He scrambled back on his backside as the dwarves marched into the room, gasping, and then froze as each of them stopped and stared at him. It was the lady, someone he had not seen before, standing next to Fili and Thorin and the smaller, dark haired wild thing that he had seen a couple of times- Kili - who broke the silence.  
"Oh, you poor mite!" she ran forward, gathering Pippin up in her arms, and he just kind of went limp, wide eyed, and let himself be crushingly hugged. Where was the owner of the sharp voice he had heard? It had been female, and presumably Fili and Kili's mother and Thorin's sister, but where ... Surely this person hugging him wasn't one and the same with the voice?  
"Dis," came Thorin's deep, gravelly voice, with only a hint of laughter behind it. "I think you may be scaring him. Or suffocating him."  
She let him go, thumbs on the side of his face, staring into his eyes. Her eyes were full of concern and pity and she clucked her tongue sympathetically at him. "Fili." she said, in a voice somehow both condescending and chastising and he gave her an innocent face back. "Will everyone please stop acting like it's my fault!?"  
"W-Who are you, Miss?"  
"My name is Dis, little one. Am I right in thinking that you are named Pip?"  
He paused, about to tell them, ask them, beg them not to call him that. It was Merry's name for him, precious and sacred without actual Merry calling him it, but it was also the name that the slavers had given him. Just a thing: Pip.  
Of course, he said none of this. For what ever reason, he did not yet dare, and so after his tiny pause he just bit his lip and nodded. In fairness, Dis noted his hesitation with some protective maternal instinct and stored it away to worry about later, but said nothing.  
"My sons spent the night looking at maps. Looking for the Shire, as the best ways to get there."  
Pippin looked at them, eyes wide. "Really?"  
"But unfortunately," interrupted Thorin in a growl. "That would involve the two princes going on an adventure. And we have quite specifically forbidden that."  
"We could go to just Dale and Esgaroth, and then the guards'd bring him home." murmured Kili sheepishly. He might be content in Erebor, but any chance to cause mischief he could have was apparently too fantastic to resist. Fili just wanted to leave the Mountain, just for a moment, just for something to do.  
Dis turned and narrowed her eyes at both the boys, but Thorin looked right back at her with the slightest flicker of a grin. "A tiny little bit of an adventure could always do something for them."  
Dis's eyes narrowed further and even the stoic Thorin took a step back. "Sister. It's only to Laketown, after all."  
Dis made a noise suspiciously similar to a snarl, and then whirled back to face Pippin with a perfectly pleasant countenance on her beautiful face (For it WAS beautiful, despite the beard). "But of course, no one blames you, Pip. You must get home: it is of the upmost importance." He blinked, nonplussed, and then remembered his manners with a jolt. "Oh! T-thank you, Miss."  
"Please call me Dis."  
"Thank you, Dis."  
"Are you alright?" she asked quickly, going into full mothering mood at the sign of a young boy obeying orders. It was, quite frankly, shocking. "Have you eaten anything? Anything at all?"  
"No Miss. I mean, Dis." The process turned and fixed Fili with an accusing glare. He threw his hands up in indignation at being blamed again.  
"Since when?" Pippin went pale even thinking about it. Not since the first day in Dale, easily. He couldn't answer, and just shook his head, but unfortunately Dis picked up his actual message through it. 'A long time'.  
"Right. Come with me, Pip." Pippin made no movement and glanced instead at Fili nervously. Swallowing back a smirk, Fili whispered to him conspiratorially. "Don't worry. She's going to feed you." Even Kili had trouble hiding his reaction when Pippin actually, physically SMILED. It was a shy smile, and aimed in gratitude at the fearsome dwarrowdam above anything else, but despite all that he WAS smiling. Truly and properly, and Fili concealed a triumphant laugh behind a cough.  
Once Dis and Poppin had gone, Thorin rolled his eyes again and smacked his eldest nephew upside the head. "One smile does not mean that he is healed, Fili."  
"No Uncle. It means that he is healing."

Pippin sat in the kitchens, staring, totally stunned, at a truly enormous plate of food. They were not the main kitchens, which were a series of meticulously cleaned halls, everlastingly presided over by the indomitable Bombur and run with a ridiculously competent series of chefs, under-chefs, caterers, servants, waiters and confused looking kitchen maids; but rather they were sitting in the tiny little apartment kitchens in Dis's rooms that in all probability were a planning mistake by the ancient Dwarvish architects.  
Now, had it been anyone else, Pippin would have probably begged not be forced to eat the food or have simply tried to refuse it, or been unable to eat it for the sick feeling in his stomach that came with the fear he had, for the last few months, grown all too used to living with.  
But Dis was Dis. Among Dwarves, that would be enough of an explanation, but being the ignorant Big Folk that we are, I suppose I shall have to elaborate.  
Dis was famous among the dwarves for being both beautiful and fierce and also having the maternal instinct of an oliphaunt with three sets of triplets. The main thing that had probably saved the lives of the Durin princes so far from assassins and anarchists and the like was the collective worry that Dis'd come after their attackers, as opposed to the thought of her brother's wrath (Thorin being the KING and his wrath being therefore quite dangerous) or the fact that when cornered, Kili and Fili fought like wild things.  
Dis herself was tall-ish for a dwarf, similar to Thorin, only - although it was never a good idea to mention it near him - maybe an inch or two taller. On the other hand, however, she was much slimmer than her brother, which was, unfortunately, generally regarded at the time to be an elf-like quality, and so to make up for it she wore many layers of fur and fabric, coupled with fur lined, heavy boots. And even in her slightly ugly but undeniably useful boots, she walked with the kind of grace only found in high born women and well fed cats, and wearing that selfsame expression, usually.  
Apart from when her face was filled with motherly concern, which it was at the moment that Pippin was sitting in her little kitchen.  
And Pippin, sensing it emanating out from her, found he did not want to refuse the big plate of food, and that he was in fact very hungry. Still though, better safe than sorry... "Are you sure?"  
She reached down and placed a hand on his shoulders, looking him worriedly in the eye. "Yes, of course I'm sure! I went and made it all for you, didn't I? And then I put it down in front of you and said 'here you go'!"  
Pippin bowed his head nervously and hunched his shoulders over just a tiny bit. "S-sorry." he mumbled, and Dis had to hold herself back from hugging him. "No no no , it's ok. I wasn't trying to scare you, Pip, it's just my boys don't really ever shut up so..."  
But he had twitched unhappily at the word 'Pip', and she had noticed. "Now, whatever's wrong? You told us that was your name."  
"It's not that-" he tried desperately, but her strength gave out and she hugged him at the nervous, strained words, and to her surprise he hugged her back, clinging to the motherly dwarrowdam. "There, it's alright. You're safe. So, are you going to tell me about that name of yours?"  
"It... my name is Peregrin Took."  
"And why would you shorten such a nice name to Pip?"  
"The slavers said so, so I didn't sound like so much of a person, so..."  
Dis gasped something blatantly disrespectful and possibly blasphemous about Mahal. "Oh, no! No... you are very much a person to us, Peregrin."  
Pippin smiled a tiny bit at her. "Actually," he started in a sheepish whisper. "Peregrin always was a bit long. Merr- my friends call me Pippin."  
"Pippin then. Valar, the matter of your name seems rather more complex than it should be, doesn't it? My name is Dis. Everyone calls me Dis." She sighed in relief. "And now that we've got that sorted out, then you can eat the food, right?"  
Pippin bit his lip and nodded. And then he ate the food.

"Thorin Oakenshield!" barked Dis's clear, kind voice up the stairs, with considerable and frightening violence. "Fili Durin!"   
They both gulped and arrived nervously at the top of the staircase to the royal quarters. "You pair of idiots!" She gathered up her skirts and ran up the stairs, only giving Fili enough time to move reflexively closer to Thorin. "Uncle," he hissed, alarmed. "She's going to kill us!" Kili, watching from his room, laughed hysterically. "See you in the halls of our fathers, brother!"  
"You two will be the death of me, Kili or no Kili! The little hobbit, poor thing-"  
"What, Pip?" Dis punched Fili in the shoulder and he yelped and jumped back. "Ma! Would you please not hit me and explain?"  
"Pippin, his name is Pippin!"  
"Oh. Is that all? Ow!" Fili cried out as Dis hit him again.  
"Sister, please stop punching him." said Thorin gruffly, but with a slight smile nonetheless.  
"The traders called him that, 'Pip', to make him feel less...alive."  
Thorin, who had had to deal with slavers on the borders before, first scowled and them reached out and hugged his sister. "Dis, you see that he needs to go home...?"  
"Of course!"  
"And Fili and Kili can take him."  
She sighed. "Yes, Thorin. But if they come back dead, I'll kill them."  
Fili rubbed his arm pensively. "If you don't break my arm first, mother, then I would be glad to escort him."


	4. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo. Merry. Bard. Laketown!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do I research? I don't!  
> Dwarvish facts are DODGY!

Chapter 4: Day 3

The Hobbit and all the Dwarves spent the remainder of the day packing and staring at maps before they set off. It was then, engaged in the latter activity, that Pippin met Ori and Bombur.  
Fili was off sorting out his many, many daggers, swords, knives and other sharp, throwing, stabbing instruments, so Kili had been left looking after Pippin. This was, Dis had explained, mainly because Erebor was an enormous place, and even Balin - who was reputed to be nearly three hundred and had lived under the Lonely Mountain from the moment of his birth - occasionally got lost. Luckily, Kili managed to find one of the many libraries, and led Pippin inside. He had been chattering incessantly the entire way, gesturing to paintings and tapestries and carvings, telling a confusing anecdote about Fili trying to impress Thorin and falling all the way down one of the great marble staircases in a manner reminiscent of a Dwarvish toy that Kili referred to as a 'slinky', and above all, trying to explain where the hell they were going.  
It was a positive thing, I think, that Pippin didn't try to pay too much attention, since Kili was speaking mostly in Common, but also in forms of Khuzdul and Iglishmêk. All the poor hobbit really managed to recognise was the last bit: "...and here's the library. Aulë, I hope it's the right one!"  
Noticing Pippin's continued silence, he frowned, shamefaced, and ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Master Hobbit. I talk too much, I know, but-"  
Pippin, who had been biting his lip, cut in. "It doesn't bother me. You remind me of someone... you and your brother."  
For a moment Kili looked like he was about to ask who exactly they reminded Pippin of, but he didn't. If Pippin was going to tell him, he would tell him. Instead, he nodded slowly, smiling, and Pippin smiled shyly back. He pushed open the door - a smaller one, far less imposing than the one to Fili's room - and happily began to talk again. "This is where they keep the maps and travelling histories and such. There are really, really old ones in the back, it's- oh. Hello!"  
As they strolled around the corner of a bookshelf, they had come across two more dwarves. One was chubby with bright, flaming ginger hair and beard, and the other was quite small with a light brown bowl cut and what looked like purple ribbon braided into his hair.  
"Hello there, Kili!" It was the younger one talking. "What are you doing h- who's this?"  
"Ori, Bombur, allow me to introduce Peregrin Took." The young prince allowed himself more than a smidge of smugness at remembering - and using - his name. "Fili rescued him from outside and we're going to take him down to Laketown and then Dwalin'll probably escort him home from there." Kili frowned suddenly. "Though if we disappear then we're the ones taking him home. Don't tell mam.  
"Oh, Pippin, this is Ori and Bombur. Ori is a scribe, he's really smart and stuff, and Bombur is our chief architect. He singlehandedly fixed Erebor after the dragon."  
Bombur chuckled. "Not quite singlehandedly."  
"Yeah, well, anyway, have you got any maps to the Shire?"  
"Where?" This time it was Ori speaking, already fumbling through scripts and scrolls and papers. "Uh...Pippin, where is it?"  
Looking mildly surprised at being asked a question, and really just generally rather shy, Pippin blinked.  
"B-between Dunland and the sea, I've been told."  
"You are a Halfling then?" Ori's eyes were shining. "Gosh, right. The easiest way is through Mirkwood, if you use the Elven road, and then down through the mountains-"  
Pippin had moved forward, tugging on Kili's arm, and began to speak hesitantly. "Couldn't we go through Rohan?"  
Ori looked up, confused. "Well, yes, but it would take quite a bit longer. Another week at the most. But why would you want to go through Rohan?"  
"I-" Pippin froze, panicking.  
"Is it the elves? Or the mountains, actually. There could be goblins." said Kili, his brow creasing.  
The hobbit's look of relief was so sudden and intense that Kili knew he couldn't be telling the truth, but he still nodded frantically.  
"No need to explain then, laddie." said Bombur. "No dwarf has ever had any great love for an elf. And NO ONE has ever had so much as a passing fit of compassion for a goblin."  
Ori looked hard at Pippin, concerned. "But there are slaving routes through Rohan. Are you sure?"  
"It's the only other safe way through, right?"  
"The only reasonable one."  
"Then we'll take him home AND protect him from whoever tries to harm him." And Kili received another gratified, beaming grin from Pippin.

*Meanwhile in Laketown*

Frodo woke up in the little room next to the kitchen, at pretty much dawn. This was mainly due to there being a strategically placed hole in the curtains so he could remember to wake up.  
In fairness, he always had been good at waking up. Uncle Bilbo had always said it was more than a bit unnatural in a young hobbit: the desire the get up. He was joking though. Frodo being a morning person would be, he said, extremely resourceful if it came to it.  
Bard's children were...children.  
Sigrid would always TRY to be awake on time, to help with all the chores and things, but she was a teenage girl, and there was the problem. It involved getting out of bed on time.  
Bain would, naturally, not wake up until his father opened the door and barked his name. Even if Tilda jumped on him.  
Tilda just got up whenever she woke up, with explosive energy. They were all good children, and they tried to help their father, but often enough they were totally useless.  
So Frodo, in return for Bard helping him, got up early in return to help Bard.

Unfortunately, today Bard was already up, and when Frodo walked into the kitchen he found him sitting at the table miserably, thinking.  
Him materialising like this was so surprising that Frodo jumped and squeaked.  
"Sorry, Frodo. I did not mean to scare you."  
"Why are you awake so early, sir?"  
"Just Bard, not sir." He sighed. "I have received a message from Erebor. They are sending their crown princes down for a 'visit of state', though very low key, and probably just for the markets."  
"But... what's wrong with that?"  
"You have literally NO IDEA how annoying the princes are! They act like four year olds, only highly trained in pretty much all forms of combat."  
He sighed again. "And they'll be staying with us."  
"Erebor?" asked Frodo wondrously, finally catching on. "Dwarves?"  
"Aye, Dwarves. Little annoying princeling Dwarves, nothing more."  
"Oh. My Uncle always talked about visiting up north, about Erebor and everything. He was going to when he was younger...only then he found out about the dragon."  
Bard nodded grimly. "That was not a fortunate occasion for Dale or Esgaroth either. Especially Dale."  
Frodo nodded back solemnly and for a moment they were both silent.  
"Well, I'm going to go a sweep the floor-"  
"Ah, you don't have to do that. Go back to sleep."

*At the gates of Erebor*

Pippin circled the balustrades obsessively. Waiting for Thorin (and maybe Dis) to arrive so that they could leave was no fun at all.   
Eventually the chosen company to escort Pippin home was only Fili, Kili, Dwalin and someone that Pippin had never met or heard of called Bofur. He was, apparently, Bombur's younger brother, and very nice.  
And very bored, which seemed to be the main reason that people volunteered for this, although he didn't mind Fili and Kili quite so much, for as much as their desire to get out of the mountain was quite simply THAT: a desire to GET OUT OF THE MOUNTAIN, they were still concerned for him and they wanted to get him home safely.  
Dwalin he was not sure about. The huge warrior would be very, very useful in a fight, no questions there, but he was, quite frankly, terrifying.  
And he had never met Bofur. A toymaker, apparently, and a good friend of the princes...

He was snapped out of his reverie by the arrival of Fili. "Pippin! You alright?"  
"M'fine."  
"We're ready to go. Are you sure you're alright? We could wait a little longer if you-"  
Pippin smiled shyly at the heartfelt offer. "No, I'm alright. Let's go."  
Fili smiled back and showed him into the hall.  
Inside there were pretty much all the dwarves that Pippin had met, as well as one he had not. Presumably this was Bofur, although he in no way resembled Bombur.  
He had a great big wooly hat clamped on top of his head, with stiffly braided dark hair curling up from either side. He was chuckling heartily, and his dark eyes were creased with laughter lines, and Kili was slapping him on the back.  
Thorin and Dis, it seemed, were having an argument. Since everyone was ignoring them (and he'd met them) Pippin correctly assumed that this was a common occurrence.  
Dwalin was standing around looking imposing. In fairness, this was what he was paid to do.  
Turning, Thorin sighed. "I am supposed to say a speech, but you all know what you are doing. You are to go to Laketown, and you will be staying with Bard. After that, Kili and Fili will return to the Mountain and Bofur and Dwalin will take Pippin to the Shire."  
They all nodded.  
Liars.

*A Couple of Hours Later in Laketown*

With all the urgency and panic that would usually denote the arrival of a dragon or an orc pack or such, Bain rushed inside.  
"The princes are here!"  
Cursing under his breath, Bard shrugged into a ceremonial coat and looked grimly at the door.  
He turned and waved to Frodo. "Best to keep out of the way. These two could probably accidentally step on you."  
"Alright, Bard."  
"Actually, could you possibly fetch Sigrid and Tilda?"  
"Ok."  
"Thank you, and-"  
But then the door crashed open to the sight of two grinning young dwarves, one dark-haired and the other blonde. They bowed together and then straightened quickly.  
"Hullo Bard!" called Fili, not noticing Frodo as he hurried off.  
"Valar, this place hasn't changed at all."  
"Fili. Kili. How is your Uncle?"  
"His Royal Grumpiness is absolutely spectacular-"  
"In fact, watching him rage and seethe silently-"  
"-or loudly, actually-"  
"Is so very fun that we're taking a trip down south."  
"South?"  
"Eh, we're going somewhere. Anyway, you've met Dwalin, and this is Bofur and his little dwarfling nephew, Peregrin."  
"Greetings, Dwarves."  
"Valar, Bard, so formal!" laughed Kili. "Come, let's have some wine!"  
"And wipe that worried look off your face," added Fili cheekily. "We're only staying for a day!"  
Bard silently thanked all gods of men and elves and dwarves.  
"And this must be Pain,"  
"And Hilda,"  
"And Big-wig!"  
Bard's three children, who had just descended the stairs, gritted their teeth in irritation.  
"Bain,"  
"Tilda,"  
"And Sigrid."  
"That's what we said!"  
Leaving the two princes to tease the children, especially Bain, unmercifully, Bofur and Dwalin moved forward, a poorly disguised Pippin between them. "We're rather tired, Lord Bard, and I think that it'd be best to go straight to sleep. Especially the little one." Dwalin left Bofur to do the talking, glaring protectively over the hobbit with his usual folded arms. For some reason, people found the funny-looking, cheerful, charismatic toy-maker far easier to talk to than the warrior.  
"Aye, alright." nodded Bard, smiling with relief at actual polite, non-insufferable dwarves. "Upstairs, turn left. There's a bathroom in there."  
"Thank you very much," finished Bofur, grinning. "And I would advise you not to hand out any alcohol to our two princes there-"  
"You don't have to tell me that."  
Dwalin snorted. "Again."

Walking through Dale had been a bit of a culture shock for Pippin. Naturally he had been in the city before... But that was locked up, miserable and frightened, in a cage.  
The huge city was, it seemed, a direct combination of Elvish and Dwarvish architecture; both elegant and sturdy, and very beautiful. The markets were filled with dancing, clever clockwork things (that Bofur had to be dragged bodily away from on several occasions) and delicious smelling dishes that Pippin had never heard of, and soft, pretty clothes and materials.  
Naturally they avoided the seedier, dirtier parts of the markets, where slaves and such things might he sold, but the place that Pippin had been taken was in a part of the markets neither seedy nor dirty. Dale may have been a fantastic city, and a city of wonders, but it was a city of men. And the hearts of men are easily corrupted.  
From Dale, they had taken a barge into Laketown. It had quite a different feel to what was basically its older brother.  
Laketown felt rustic and haphazard, like if you stomped on the wrong board you could fall into the chilling waters, or if you leant on the wrong wall it could quite possibly collapse a whole street of houses. It was, however, a thrilling, fun place to be, although wildly different from the propriety and grandeur of Dale and Erebor.  
Actually, the rooms Bard had offered them were rather reminiscent of Rohan, although Pippin would not perhaps have said exactly that.  
They were woody and rustic and plain, but somehow well decorated and elaborate the at same time. I was an odd feeling, a nostalgic feeling.  
But Pippin was tired, so soon enough he stopped considering the architecture and flopped onto the soft white bed and went to sleep.

Frodo had been hiding upstairs. He wasn't quite sure whether he was playing hide and seek with a bored Tilda or just taking shelter from the apparently twin destructive influences of Fili and Kili, but he was engaged in hiding for hours.  
When he did go to sleep, it was in his usual room next to the kitchen, but without his usual time spent thinking, strange and terrible things leeched into his dreams.

Fili and Kili wanted to drink. Not at Bard's, obviously, as he wouldn't allow them, so it involved sneaking in and out, and the best way to do this, they had found, was through a little cupboard room next to the kitchen.  
But this time, when they climbed through the window and into the room, they nearly fell over a sleeping figure.  
Fili swore under his breath, and Kili looked around to make sure that they hadn't disturbed anyone, and then bent down next to his brother.  
"Who is it? What is it?"  
"Kee, this is a HOBBIT."  
"What?! Why would Bard have a hobbit?"  
"I don't know. I didn't think he'd support the..." They didn't want to say 'slave trade' out loud.  
Below them, the little person shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, dreaming. He moved onto his side and moaned - "Pippin, wait..." - and Fili and Kili jumped about a foot in the air, and then they both reached down and gently shook him awake.

Poor Frodo woke to the sight of two electrified Dwarf Prince faces directly above his own. "How do you know Pippin?" asked Kili frantically.  
"Who are you?" added Fili.  
"How did you end up here?"  
"Do you work for Bard?"  
Frodo looked at them, wide eyed and confused, and decided to answer the easiest of the questions. "M-my name is Frodo Baggins-"  
"And you know Pippin?"  
"Peregrin Took? You know where he is? He's my cousin, we were kidnapped together..."  
"He's here!"  
"I saw him in the market place and bought him and we're taking him home, back to the Shire. How did you end up with Bard?"  
"...similar. His daughter Tilda made him buy me to get me out."  
"Ah. He's a nice guy, right?"  
"What?"  
"I mean he's not treating you like..."  
"Oh, no!"  
"Right." Kili's eyes were shining. "So we could take you home too. Let's go tell Pippin!"  
He was already bouncing upstairs with the express purpose of waking the other hobbit as Fili helped Frodo to his feet. "Here you go, Master Baggins." And then he hesitated. "Uh, Frodo... Have you any idea why Pippin would want us to take the road through Rohan? Kili mentioned something about avoiding elves, but-"  
"Avoiding elves? Why would we avoid...oh."  
And then it struck him. "He wants to go through Rohan." He stood very still, his mind racing, full of thoughts of Merry, until he was interrupted.  
"I am no further as to understanding this, but it is clearly your business and not mine." said Fili, and bowed politely, smiling as a tiny, auburn silhouette appeared in the doorway, and Pippin's high, clear voice sounded. "Frodo!"  
And then Frodo was tackled by a tiny bundle of curls and beaming grins and happy tears and there was no time for talking.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Back in the Shire

At first it had only been Sam that had been particularly alarmed by Frodo, Merry and Pippin's disappearance. Merry had always been wild enough, and a Took going off to have some adventure was so common that no one so much as blinked.  
Frodo going off somewhere to have an adventure was quite different, of course, but it'd only been a few days and, well, he'd last been seen in the company of a Brandybuck and a Took.  
But Sam knew something was wrong. His Mister Frodo wouldn't just run off without warning or planning (whatever his Uncle may have done).  
And Pervinca Took bringing up her concerns very nearly gave him a full on heart attack.  
She had cornered him gardening at Bag End.  
"Sam?" He looked up at the hesitant pronunciation of his name, surprised. He was even more surprised when it turned out to be someone like Pervinca. "Miss Took! I-I mean, uh, yes?"  
She paused, unsure of how to say it. "Sam, have you seen Frodo since Saturday and that dratted fishing trip?"  
"No, Miss."  
She bit her lip, ever the restless Took, just like her brother. "I didn't think so. It's just... I haven't seen Pippin and no one's seen Merry. I mean, it's probably nothing, just..."  
"What is it?" He was worried now. Really worried, although Sam was quite liable to get worried over nothing at the best of times. "Before me and some of the others went home, there were these men arrived next to us. They said they were from Bree, only, they didn't look or act like it at all."  
Sam nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue. Pervinca would know about such things. She had been to Bree, more than once, and was very used to the customs there.  
"Well, I'm... I'm just scared that those men would have done something. A bad something."  
Sam felt his heart freeze suddenly. He would be quite prepared to fight off these unpleasant sounding rascals with his shovel if they'd touched Mister Frodo. "You mean... kidnapped them?"  
She bit her lip even further and nodded. "I'm scared to think that such a thing might be true."  
Sam's brow creased determinedly. "Don't you worry about it, Miss Pervinca, I'll ask Bilbo-" Even Sam had been eventually persuaded to call Bilbo Baggins by just his name "- and if he thinks something might be the slightest bit wrong then he'll do something, I'm sure of it. He's a very decisive kind of a hobbit, Miss."  
Pervinca smiled through what Sam could now see as barely concealed tears and embraced him suddenly in a feather light hug. "Thank you! No one else'd listen, I was so worried!"  
She drew back and offered him that slightly shy, heartfelt smile that, like her little hug, belied the loud, Tookish nature. "And please, please call me Vinca. Everybody else does!"  
Sam blinked twice and stammered at her retreating form. "A-alright, Vinca."  
He waited until she was out of sight to throw down his trowel and scamper into Bag End. "Mister Baggins?"  
Bilbo's voice sounded faintly from within his study. "For the millionth time, Samwise Gamgee, call me Bilbo or I shall call you Mister Samwise."  
"Sorry Bilbo, it's just that I'm worried for Frodo. Pervinca Took came over a few minutes ago and she said-"  
"Oh, calm down, it's probably nothing."  
"No, listen! There were these men arrived and..."  
As he talked, Bilbo began to get more and more concerned, until he'd finished and the older hobbit was pacing back and forth, up and down the hall.  
"We have to do something!"  
"Do what? With all respect, sir, the Shiriffs won't do nothing, and no one else will, what with a Took and his mate, and Frodo... Well, Frodo growing up with you, Mister Bilbo, no one'll act much surprised. You know how hobbits can be."  
Bilbo smiled a bit at Sam's frankness and clarity in the face of general hobbitiness, but because of his concern for Frodo, none of it reached his eyes.  
"Well, Master Gamgee, if no one else will do anything, we'll have to do something ourselves."

*

Bard had gotten up rather early that day at the signal about the two dwarf princes, and by the time that they had stopped giving him hell, it was rather late at night. He was tired, and had absolutely no desire to be woken until morning. Preferably, when he awoke, the dwarves would be gone and he would be able to continue his quiet life in peace.  
But, of course, none of that actually happened.  
What happened was that Bain (Bain was up?! At this hour?!) stormed into his bedroom and yelled for him to come downstairs, quickly!  
"What the hell is going on?"  
"Da, come on! It's easier to see than explain."  
He sat up in bed and fixed his restless son with a glare. "If this is over nothing, there's going to be trouble."  
Bain just gestured impatiently for him to get out of bed and flitted out of the room. "I'm coming," he grumbled. "I'm coming."  
He stomped down the stairs rather over dramatically. This was not exactly in his nature, but I feel that behind the extreme frustration at being woken up in the middle of the night, he could sense the happiness radiating out from... whatever was happening. Basically, he was just being grumpy for the sake of being grumpy.  
Unfortunately, four dwarves and three human children are quite sufficient to hide a pair of hobbits, when gathered in a delighted bundle around them, so when Bard got to the bottom step and looked around, he didn't see much.  
Bard was not a particularly sarcastic man, but now was most certainly a time for sarcasm. He folded his arms, flicked his eyes skywards and then called out to the people below.  
"What in Middle Earth are all of you doing?!" he asked in a soft tone that was, nonetheless, heard throughout the room. They mostly froze and Tilda literally, happily SKIPPED towards him.  
"Da, isn't it fantastic?"  
He sighed and slumped, his half-angry stance falling to one of total and utter confusion and exhaustion, and Sigrid's big sister instincts took over. She herded the dwarves (and Bain) away from the two (now rather nervous looking) hobbits.  
Frodo didn't say anything. He could almost hear Pippin's brain going to work next to him. He would say something, perhaps something completely inappropriate in five, four, three, two...  
"You must be Bard!" said Pippin simply.  
"And who are you?" asked Bard gruffly in return.  
"This," growled Dwalin. "Is Peregrin Took, and the main reason we are here."  
Frodo looked up sheepishly. "He's my cousin."  
Deciding enough was enough, the two princes glanced at each other, took a deep breath and stepped forward. "We can explain."  
"Probably."  
"Possibly."  
Bard rolled his eyes properly and collapsed in a chair. "Well, someone had better."

They set out at about noon, when the ice was beginning to be more pliant, or at least, less likely to skewer someone. Fili and Kili kept looking around as though they expected their mother to leap out from behind one of the rocky pillars and yell 'And where do you think you're going?', but luckily, there were no such fearsome apparitions.  
Frodo and Pippin sat with Bofur in the back of the borrowed barge. He was the least threatening and most friendly of the four dwarves in the area, although no one had actually said that out loud. They had just kind of pushed the three of them in the same direction and got on with the actual steering and sailing of the boat.  
"You must be Frodo," said Bofur friendlily, messing with his pipe, which he very rarely actually lit, or put anywhere near his mouth. "And I've met young Pippin, though not very much, and I'm Bofur." With introductions sorted out, he decided that he had really rather get onto an issue that he actually wanted to talk about. "Now, master Frodo, if you don't mind me asking, what's wrong? You seem a little on the-" Bofur paused, looking for the right word. "Shaky side."  
"It's fine." said Frodo quietly. "It's just... well, I'm not a great fan of boats."  
"No hobbit is," agreed Pippin. "We can't swim. The whole feet to height ratio doesn't exactly help, though I've heard of some of who said they can swim. I mean, they can't, but I reckon they're happier being near the water than Frodo and I would be."  
"Ah." Bofur nodded. "Well, I can't say a dwarf is the happiest thing in a duck pond, but I've no great aversion to the water myself."  
"It's more a personal thing," said Frodo quietly. "My parents drowned."  
"Oh." There was silence for a moment; not an awkward silence so much as a thoughtful one. "You live with relatives then?"  
"My uncle. Bilbo."  
"Aye. My cousin Bifur was in a similar situation - well, not really. He's got a goblin axe stuck in his forehead, so me and me brother look after him."  
"Bombur, right?" piped in Pippin.  
"Yep. He's-"  
"Bofur!" called Kili. "Pass us your hat!"  
He looked up, one eyebrow raised, his hands going up protectively to his hat. The weird thing was, Pippin had never seen him remove the thing. It appeared to be permanently, irrevocably attached to his head. "My hat? What d'you want my hat for?"  
"There's fish around here," explained Fili jokingly. "We were trying to think of something useless-"  
"-dirty-" interrupted Kili.  
"-ratty-"  
"-that we could use as a net."  
"Oh, shut up."  
Bofur chuckled and relaxed, jamming his hat even further onto his head. "Ignore those two if they act up too much," he said softly to the hobbits. "Me and Dwalin won't do anything about it, of course. We're soft. Known them since they were just little baby dwarflings, and of course they just LOVED Dwalin, what with his big, strong, admirable soldier-y-ness, and, well, I'm a toymaker, so..."  
Pippin smiled at the idea of pocket-sized Fili and Kili, and Frodo leaned forwards to smile at Pippin. "They remind me of someone, Pip." Bofur raised an eyebrow at the nickname (which was apparently forbidden), but the littlest hobbit didn't even seem to notice. "Yeah." He sounded sad. "Frodo, you get why... I mean, about Rohan and-"  
"Yes, but it's a bad idea."  
Bofur's raised eyebrow didn't twitch through the entire, rather odd, exchange.  
"Have you ever been here before?" asked Frodo shyly, to Bofur, trying to detract attention from the fact that he as Pippin were UP TO SOMETHING in capitals.  
"No, never here exactly. I've been to Dale most weeks, and Laketown a few times. Never further. Not since we retook Erebor."  
"And before?"  
"Before I think I must have gone to most places, though not deliberately. We made our livings in the towns of men, you see, wandering around."  
Bofur sighed. "It wasn't exactly fun, but at least we went places. I never knew Erebor, I mean, before the Dragon came, so I was never used to the..."  
Frodo nodded, and Pippin just blinked thoughtfully. Bofur was no royal, but his story was almost identical to Fili's. And he could hardly begrudge the dwarf the desire to leave the mountain. It was one way to get rescued, after all.  
"Bofur! Hobbits!" It was Dwalin calling. "Look at this," shouted Kili, and Fili whooped with delight.  
"It's the elves!"  
With a few surprised glances at each other, the trio at the back of the barge scrambled to their feet and hurried to the front, where it was more easily feasible to see past the mists that covered the Lake like a thick, foamy, pale blanket.  
The Elvish longboat paid no heed to the fog, its thin point gliding like a knife-point through water and vapour. It was far more elegant than the crude - although sturdy - crafts used by the men of Esgaroth. It was decorated with the usual delicate, spiralling lines, and although there was no mast, none of the elves (standing, emotionless, still, wraithlike on the deck) were rowing. Their boat moved, apparently, of it's own accord.  
"Hello!" yelled Kili across the water, ever subtle and thoughtful. He and his brother waved with huge arms, grinning. Pippin thought that at least half of their delight seemed born from the idea of disturbing the elves's peace.  
Only one of them reacted, however, inclining his head so that he faced them as the two boats passed each other, one graceful eyebrow arching smoothly. "Legolas," laughed Fili. "How fares your father?"  
The slender, blonde elf let a smile dance lightly over his lips. "All the better for a lack of your Uncle on our lands, Durin princes." His voice was clear and joking. "Where are you going?"  
"To the South," yelled Fili at the retreating craft, and waved once more. Legolas, whoever he was, laughed softly and turned to speak to his companions in Sindarin.  
"Look at that," breathed Pippin softly, and Frodo smiled. "If Sam was here..."

*The Shire, earlier that morning*

Bilbo had woken at almost the crack of dawn, packed his stuff quickly and efficiently, made a series of sandwiches to last at least a week, and sat down at his kitchen table to wait for his accomplice.  
Unfortunately, he had, at this point, fallen asleep.  
Sam (although he didn't know it) mirrored Bilbo's actions, decades earlier, as he ran through the Shire, all his stuff packed and ready to go. The running was more nervous than Bilbo's had been frantic, however, because honestly, if his Gaffer caught him going off on an adventure there'd be trouble.  
Sam couldn't get it out of his head. As much as this was a rescue attempt, it was also an ADVENTURE. Him, going off on an adventure!  
"Mister Bilbo?" When there was no answer, he frowned and knocked sharply on the window. "Bilbo?"

Slumped, perfectly asleep, on the table, Bilbo sighed. For some reason, the fluffy bunnies in his dream were calling his name. "What is it?" he muttered. "I'm sleeping."  
"Mister Bilbo, we have to go!"  
He jerked awake with a sudden shock. Of course, Sam... and Frodo and Merry and Pippin!  
"Coming, coming! Sorry Sam."  
The stout young hobbit stood outside Bilbo's door, mildly apprehensive, biting his lip, gripping his backpack straps. "Mister Bilbo," he said slowly, ignoring as the Baggins rolled his eyes. "I suddenly thought... w-where exactly are we going? Because we don't know where those men went."  
Bilbo determinedly shouldered his own pack and took a single, firm step outside his door.  
"Bree. It's a good way to get to other places, and for information, at the very least."  
Sam nodded, and the two of them began to march solidly down the greenway.

To Be Continued!  
(Once I've had a good look at Middle Earth geography and worked out where they're going)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I don't think I can continue :'(  
> This is the longest thing I've ever written, and thank you to all the people who supported me in it, but I just can't. I've tried, but it's like it got to a certain length and now I have a physical aversion to it. *Cries apologetically*


End file.
